Underestimated
by Elfprinzess
Summary: He was often mistaken for someone ordinary and domestic. Everyone who did couldn't have been further from the truth even if they tried. Even Mycroft, who had access to his file didn't realise what John Watson was capable of. At least, not until that night - AU oneshot, set after 'The Reichenbach Fall'


**Hey, this is just an AU one shot that I suddenly thought of in the middle of my exams a week ago, and I managed to finally get around to writing it up and publishing it. Enjoy :)**

**Spoilers for 'The Reichenbach Fall', but that's about it :)**

**I don't own anything you recognise :) so, nothing basically**

* * *

John was often mistaken for someone ordinary, normal, boring. He was slightly short, with blonde hair, a round face, blue eyes and a cheerful smile. Growing up he was often mistaken for someone that was on the slow side of things, and was considered by others to be cuddly and cute, not necessarily attractive or strong. In the army, there were always jokes about his height, but those who knew him were aware of his skill, and despite their teasing of his height, never underestimated him or forgot his sharp brain and quick reflexes.

When he was sent home to London with a pat on the back before being shoved to the side, forgotten to gather dust and left behind, the women still didn't find him strong or dangerous-attractive, but they were attracted to him regardless. He knew when he met someone who was interested, the woman was seeing their future and could see him as a working dad, playing with kids and painting the picket fence.

He was often mistaken for someone ordinary and domestic. Everyone who did couldn't have been further from the truth even if they tried.

Even Mycroft, who had access to his file didn't realise what John Watson was capable of.

At least, not until _that_ night.

* * *

John wasn't stupid. He wasn't a genius, like Sherlock, but he wasn't stupid. His quick thinking had often come in handy in Afghanistan, and while he didn't look at someone and be able to see their affairs, secrets and history, he would observe and see the person now and he could make rational judgements about the person. Which was why he was very well aware that Sherlock wasn't dead. He knew it, and he also knew that not only Mycroft knew, but so did Molly. He was initially hurt that Sherlock had trusted Molly and not him, but pushed the hurt away, used to being underestimated and looked over. Sherlock had known that Moriarty would only believe Sherlock had actually offed himself if John believed it. Or at least appeared to believe it, and the consulting detective had assumed that John wouldn't have been able to act well enough to convince the watchers on the flat. Even now, a year later, the tail remained, trailing him to work and back and to the pub and back.

John also knew the chances that Moriarty had actually killed himself were slim as well, and even if he did, he would've had his second in command prepped and fully capable of taking over.

And yes, John knew Moriarty had a second in command, one Colonel Sebastian Moran. The consulting criminal may not have completely trusted the man with everything, but John knew that for a man who didn't like to get his hands dirty, he would've had to have had someone he trusted to do the dirty work.

He also knew that Sherlock would be working his way through Moriarty's branches and vines to Moran, and quite possibly the psychopath himself. He knew this because he knew Sherlock. And he knew that the man would need help, even if he would never admit it.

This knowledge led him to meet up with some old army buddies, reminiscing on old times and helping each other as a support group to readjust to civilian life. At least, on the face of it. John told his friends everything, and all were ready to help the man save his best friend. Frank kept eyes on Moran and the crime syndicate while Bill, Trish and John gathered supplies and gradually planned their attack.

When Frank announced a worker was planning a coup, and the boss was aware of it, John knew it was Sherlock. He also knew the idiot wouldn't have planned everything through, despite his genius and the strike team left for Switzerland, flying on a commercial flight that was rather easy to smuggle their weapons and equipment on board (which is a scary thought). After a tense flight and car trip, they were in a hotel, sharing a room on the edge of the Reichenbach Falls.

When night fell, John and Frank 'slept' their journey off while Bill and Trisha went on the tour guide to the falls at night, linking arms and giggling as couples in love do. Half way through the guide, they lagged behind. Their attention grew less focused on keeping up and more focused on each other, hands lingering, lips growing closer together. The tour guide sighed but left them behind, aware of what the couple wanted to do.

"Dumma turister" The guide muttered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Bill and Trisha were racing down the path to the bottom of the falls, tracing the hidden path with ease and stealth. They made it all the way to the front door before they were subdued and handcuffed (not before they put up a bloody good fight and knocked ten guards out between them). They were taken inside and shoved into a large, empty storage room where they were forced to kneel in the middle, hands behind their backs, watching as a short man with dark hair and dark eyes in a suit was stalking around another prisoner. The tall, dark haired man tied to a chair stared at them in surprise and then annoyance.

"What the hell do you two want?" Moriarty demanded.

"We were looking for a quick romp, know any good spots?" Bill drawled in an American accent. "She wouldn't just do it out in the open, such a prude, she is, and well, didn't particularly want to go back to the hotel, we're here with some friends and when we left them they were content to stay in bed all night."

"American? How surprising." Sherlock sighed. "I would've thought my brother sent you two."

"I'm sorry," Trisha burst out, wailing and crying.

"Please don't waste my time; you took out ten of my people. You're clearly not just simple tourists." Moriarty sighed.

Trisha kept the sobbing up, only increasing in volume.

"Stop it!" Moriarty yelled over her.

She didn't hear.

"I said shut it!" He screamed, pulling a gun from his pocket and stalking over to hold it against her neck.

She paused in her crying and grinned up at him, "Wrong move kiddo."

In a flurry of movements she was on her feet, hands unbound with the gun in her hands pointed on the floor at Moriarty who was clutching his arm in pain and staring up at her. He then began to laugh. And laugh.

"Oh very good. The American accents threw me, Mycroft Holmes is certainly getting more creative." Moriarty sneered.

"I've never met this Mycroft, and I certainly don't work for him. Do you Tee?" Bill asked, having knocked out the other two guards and had a gun of his own now.

"Nope."

Moriarty frowned. "Another government then." He shrugged dismissively, "It doesn't matter, you're all the same, bumbling idiots."

"We don't work for any government. We don't work for anyone, we're just helping out a friend." Bill told the man.

Moriarty sighed. "I suppose this friend gave you a message to deliver, before shooting me, killing me in cold blood."

"He has a message for you, we're just waiting for him to turn up and deliver it personally." Trisha informed him cheerfully. "Should be here in a jiffy."

"Yes, well, sorry to disappoint." Moriarty sighed, "Seb?" He called out. He then smirked at Trisha, as she waited patiently. Bill paused in his movements as he began untying Sherlock.

They all waited.

And waited.

Moriarty frowned.

"Was something supposed to happen?" Trisha asked him.

"Sorry, Seb's a bit occupied at the mo, can I take a message?"

Sherlock stood up from the chair and looked around for the source of the new American voice.

Lights flicked on, as up until that moment the whole room had only been lit in the middle, and Moriarty flinched at the unexpected light. Sherlock did as well, but hid it much more skilfully. Trisha and Bill merely blinked and adapted.

"Go on and look up then." Trisha told Moriarty, gesturing to the walls.

The storage room was bigger than it had appeared, and had a balcony running around the walls with one ladder running from the ground to the second floor. There were lumps on the balcony, still and limp, around the entire room. Flashes of skin through the black clothing showed them to be snipers who were all unconscious. One black-clad figure remained crouching, opposite the ladder. He was the one who had spoken. He stood, his face still cast in shadows.

Moriarty squinted up at him. "So you took out all my snipers? My men will soon storm through this place."

"Well, Mr Holmes', the elder that is, is handy for some things, albeit, not much." The man drawled his annoying (according to the British men present) accent. "His men have taken care of the outer guards, while my buddy has looked after the inner guards. Handy to have friends you can trust, isn't it Mr Holmes?"

"Most definitely. It is even handier to have friends who can predict your actions and act accordingly without even being told." Sherlock agreed.

"I told Tee you'd recognise me straight away." The man chuckled. He then gripped the rail with one gloved hand and swung himself over and off the balcony. He landed lightly on the ground, crouching as he did so before standing. He wore all black, including a ski mask so they couldn't see his head. "See, Jimmy, can I call you Jimmy? I can, can't I? See, Jimmy, the thing is," the man said, walking up to the man who had clambered up onto his knees and then upright standing. His right hand was still clutched to his chest in pain. "I've spent my entire life being underestimated. People looked me over because of my height, my cute and cuddly appearance, my quietness, pick a reason, but they looked me over. And it didn't help that I hung around with a genius who was intelligent, so I paled in comparison. So much so, that even you, in all your genius, missed the fact that I am, not to sound stuck up or anything, actually rather intelligent. Not at your level, but I'm not an idiot. And I am fully capable of not only defending myself and those I consider my friends, but I am perfectly capable of numerous feats, such as taking revenge, or planning a rescue."

"Is there a point to all this?" Moriarty sighed, looking bored despite the gun pressed against his head. "Or are you just going to continue bragging before shooting me dead?"

"I'm not going to shoot you dead. I'm merely biding my time." The man reached up to pull the mask off. Moriarty blinked to find one John Watson standing in front of him.

John grinned and winked. "See," His American accent was gone and his natural British one had returned. "I've no right to shoot you dead, but I can't help it if my friends and I tipped border security off on our way through customs, guns are extremely hard to smuggle through, you see, and they unfortunately followed us here, and well they are very aware of what you've been up to since you started your crime business."

"I see why you like him as a pet." Moriarty grinned at Sherlock, before addressing John, "I doubt they have proof to put me away." Moriarty smirked.

"Well, they wouldn't put you away to begin with, they'd have you executed, and I am so sorry, I forgot to tell you, Lily gave me a message for you." John made a show as if he had just remembered, smacking his forehead and rolling his eyes. Moriarty's face turned pale.

"She asked me to tell you that she wished you rot in hell. There were a few more words to the sentence, but that was the general gist of it. I must say, she was rather creative with her swearing. I even learnt a few things off her."

"Johnny, you wanna wrap it up mate?" Bill asked.

"Right, sorry, got a little side-tracked," John grinned. "Any way, long story short, they do have proof, plenty of it. And well, your crimes weren't limited to England, so I'm fairly certain Switzerland wants you to be punished as well, and they still have the death penalty here, so yeah. Sorry mate." John shrugged. He then lashed out and Moriarty fell to the ground unconscious.

Another man opened the door. He nodded to John, and spoke, also with an American accent, "Time to go captain."

"Rightio." John grinned. He turned to Sherlock who had walked over to the man during the whole confrontation. "We weren't here, Sherly, understand that?"

"John?" Sherlock asked, confused, eyes flickering over his face and body.

"I'll explain tomorrow, after all, I'm here with some old army mates in a desperate attempt of theirs to cheer me up after I tried to off myself." John told Sherlock. "Trust me, please, just, tell them some story, how you broke free and knocked him out."

"Of course." Sherlock nodded. "You must explain tomorrow, and tell me why you haven't corrected my deductions of you earlier, you are much more capable than I thought, we could've had far more fun during cases in the past."

John laughed, and slipped his mask back on so only his sparkling blue eyes could be seen. Trisha and Bill had already returned the weapons they took and picked up the handcuffs and returned them to the guards to look like they had never been there. He moved away, and followed his friends out the door.

Two minutes later and the Swiss police burst through to find Sherlock standing over his kidnapper, a gun in his hand and a confused look on his face.

It took several hours before Sherlock was allowed to go back to the main hotel at the falls and sleep. He was checked out by an ambulance and declared shocked and in need of sleep. The police questioned him, took his statement and then assured him Moriarty wouldn't escape. Sherlock didn't believe this, but John had asked him to trust him, so Sherlock let the police take him to the hotel and stand outside as guard as Sherlock sat on the bed. He sipped the tea that the police had left on his bedside table, only to realise there were sleeping pills in it. As he fell sideways, drifting off to sleep, he saw John grinning from the window, waving, before disappearing.

His last thought was of John climbing three storeys to drug him into sleeping.

* * *

When he woke up in the morning and went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast, the police were waiting for him.

He was expecting them to tell him not to worry, but Moriarty escaped and they would do all they can to capture him again and was pleasantly surprised to find the news completely different.

"Moriarty was shot last night while he tried to escape our custody. He woke up in the car, and took over, knocking the officers out, only to be shot in the head by a sniper. We don't know who, but we'll find out." The officer informed Sherlock with a heavy accent.

He was saved from having to comment (lie because it was obviously John who organised the sniper) by the arrival of a party of four. Three men, and a woman. Three Americans and one British.

"John?" Sherlock called out.

John froze and stared at Sherlock in shock. "Sherlock?" he whispered, clutching at his friend's arm next to him as he seemingly struggled to remain standing through his shock.

Sherlock was surprised he was that good of an actor, expecting the signs to be clear to him at least, as he knew that John was aware of his continued existence. "I'm sorry John, I had to protect you." Sherlock continued, aware that they had to pretend their reunion.

John stumbled up to him and pinched himself. He jerked his arm and rubbed the spot, mouth hanging open and eyes wide and staring. His expression then changed to one of anger. "You bastard." He growled, throwing his right hand back and punching Sherlock in the cheek. Sherlock stumbled to the side, hands flying up to press at the now-throbbing cheek bone. Seconds later, John had his arms wrapped around his waist and face buried in his chest. His shoulders were shaking slightly, as the man suppressed his tears and sobs.

Everyone watching cheered, fully aware of the internet phenomenon that was Sherlock Holmes and his blogger, John Watson.

Sherlock hesitantly wrapped his arms around John's shoulders in response.

Later that morning, after they had all eaten breakfast (Sherlock had eaten what John had piled onto his plate, motivated by John's glare that said 'eat or else') they moved back up to John's hotel room. There were two double beds, and all four spots were rumpled from someone sleeping in each spot.

The moment the door was shut, John and Trisha burst into laughter. Sherlock spun from his study of the room and looked at them in confusion.

"I can't believe you actually convinced everyone you were crying." Trisha laughed.

"I can't believe you just let me punch you." John forced out between his laughter, addressing Sherlock.

"It is a fair reaction, considering I did leave you to believe I was a fake and had committed suicide." Sherlock shrugged, still confused and slightly uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny that the two men, Frank and Bill, were giving him.

"And with that, we'll take our leave." Trisha announced.

Bill got up and glared from the door as Frank walked up to Sherlock and said quietly, "If you upset him it'll be on your head, cause when he is through with you, we'll have our go."

"Piss off guys, I can look out for myself." John rolled his eyes in mock-annoyance.

"We know, but we like to do so anyway." Trisha kissed his cheek and followed Bill out the door. Frank shut the door behind him, leaving Sherlock and John alone.

"Who told you I was still alive?" Sherlock asked, breaking the tense silence between them.

"No one, although, I am slightly hurt you would trust Molly to be believable in fake grieving and not me, but I understand why." John shrugged, moving to sit on the bed.

"How did you know? That I didn't really die?" Sherlock asked, starting to pace across the floor as John continued to surprise him.

"I know you Sherlock. Like I said to Moriarty, I am underestimated. I always have been, and well, next to you, I'm not that smart, and I may not see what you see, but I can make my own deductions. I can tell that Lestrade is a loyal and has strong morals by his choice of job and actions towards you. And I could tell that you would've planned the whole thing, sending me away and then pretending to kill yourself to protect me, Mrs Hudson and possibly Lestrade, I never figured it out or not. I also knew that Moriarty would've done the same, or had informed Moran, his second in command, on what to do, and figured that they would only believe you were dead if I convinced them, which is why you didn't tell me. You didn't think I'd be able to act convincingly enough." John explained.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, his eyes blinking frequently as he processed this information. "Please don't stop surprising me, my dear Watson."

John grinned at him.

"Please tell me though, how did you do it?" Sherlock asked, moving to sit across from John on the other bed.

"With help. Like I said, I'm often underestimated. It was simple enough to meet up with Tee, Bill and Franko, after all, they were my troop and we were all sent home. There is nothing wrong with a grieving, depressed man seeking help from old friends. I told them everything, and they helped me plan our attack. Bill and Tee went in guns ablazing to draw the attention away to let Franko and I sneak in. He took care of the guards and explosives, and I snuck in to take care of the snipers. You saw the rest." John shrugged.

"And just who is Lily?" Sherlock asked.

"His sister, who he sent detailed notes about each and every crime he ever committed, much to the poor woman's disgust. She was afraid to speak out against him and have him hurt you, but I managed to convince her that if she gave me the evidence, then she would have nothing to fear as I would make sure he was taken care of and never got to her." John explained

"And the sniper that got Moriarty?" Sherlock asked.

"Moriarty was shot?" John gasped, the look of convincing shock passing over his face again.

Sherlock grinned at his blogger, who grinned back.

* * *

When John returned to 221B Baker street after his holiday with one Sherlock Holmes with him, everyone was shocked and then elated to have the man back. Well, nearly everyone, but as Sherlock Holmes doesn't count Donovan and Anderson as actual human beings, they didn't count.

Mrs Hudson fainted and then burst into tears, refusing to let go of the consulting detective for a solid hour. Lestrade looked like he wanted to punch the man, but restrained himself and settled for glaring and then grinning at the man. Molly just smiled at the rare smile of gratitude Sherlock flashed her for a second. No one even realised John's part in Sherlock's return.

Well, Mycroft did.

The pair had been at a crime scene and was returning to 221B Baker street after Sherlock solved it in ten minutes. Mycroft was sitting on the couch already, sipping a cup of tea Mrs Hudson had made for him.

"Congratulations brother, on your successful return." Mycroft smugly grinned.

"Piss off."

Mycroft sighed and turned to John, "If you ever are in need of a job, Dr Watson, one that provides you with more satisfaction than a general practitioner -"

"I said piss off Mycroft. You can't have him." Sherlock growled, hands clenching into fists.

"Sherlock, I can speak for myself." John interrupted with a calm voice. "Mycroft, thank you for the generous offer, but it won't be necessary. I'm rather happy staying here with Sherlock."

"Very well." With that, the man left.

John glanced at Sherlock and could tell from his face that the man was doubting John's word he was happy staying at 221B Baker street.

"Sherlock, I'm serious, I'm happy here with you."

"I suppose I believe you John, I just do not understand why someone would willingly put up with me every day." Sherlock muttered in a rare moment of vulnerability.

"I don't put up with you every day, I live for every day with you."

There was a mutual silence between them for a moment.

"Cup of tea?" John asked.

"Black, three sugars."

**The End**


End file.
